


Stolen Paradise

by J_Q



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Do not read if explicit gay sexual content in the garden of eden offends you, Do not read if gay love in the garden of eden offends you, Explicit Sexual Content, Garden of Eden, M/M, Not canon compliant - The Bible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: My response to the ass who thought it was clever and entertaining to post this comment to social media: it’s Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve. Well, I’m pretty sure if we took another look at the Garden of Eden, we’d see more than Adam and Eve. In fact, we might find Mickey and Ian. What a beautiful, beautiful thing that would be.





	Stolen Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> One more time, if you are offended by the idea of gay love in the Garden of Eden, then this fic is not for you. Do not enter.

 

While Adam and Eve were busy making all those babies and eating all that forbidden fruit, it turns out they weren’t alone in the Garden of Eden. Had they thought to look beyond the Tree of Knowledge, they would have noticed they weren’t the only humans tending the garden, naming all living things and communing with the holy spirit. In fact, another man created in the image of God inhabited Eden as well.

On the southern side of the garden across the tracks of giant cedar trees, the milk thistle is lusher, the underbrush denser and the hanging gardens more gnarled. In the center of these hanging gardens, beneath the trees twisted with vines and the plant stems weighted down with lilies and orchids, is a clear pool of blue water fed by underground streams. The swirling mist hovering over the transparent pond mingles with the erotic perfume of tropical flowers and the bright sunshine reflects deep beneath the water’s surface.

Seemingly lost in the dense foliage of the humid forest is an imposing limestone formation several stories tall; carved deeply within its rocky shelf are immense alcoves in various sizes and shapes with imposing curtains of stalagmites. Where the rocky structure meets the shining pond, one particular crevice hangs over the water’s edge. Reclining on this moss-covered ledge is a lone figure, one foot dangling in the blue pool, swirling toes sending ripples outward. The other foot resting on the rocky edge.

The man’s hand hovers over the oval baskets woven from date fronds, letting his fingers select from the assortment of figs, black mulberries, pistachios and olives. Bringing a berry to his lips, he sucks it in whole, cringing slightly from the tartness. As he plays with the berry on his tongue, his other hand taps lightly on his belly creating a rhythm of impatience.

The feeling of contentment that had always accompanied him is steadily being replaced by feelings of distraction, irritation, longing. He tries slipping an olive between his lips, but the tangy salt holds no pleasure. He tries running his hand along the juncture of his thighs, but his irritation is the only thing that grows and hardens. He flings the fig now in his hand into the water below with a petulant snap and groans loudly, his voice pulsing off the sides of the rocky grotto around him. He does it again and again, louder each time. Venting his pent-up emotion.

Suddenly, the sun crosses over the opening in the limestone overhang and he’s blinded by the bright light. Closing his eyes, the man tips his head up to the sun relishing the warmth on his skin as a distraction from his melancholy. The rays kiss his cheekbones, his collarbones, his hipbones, radiating heat all along his skin. The wind joins the sun’s rays in worshipping the body splayed over stone. It flutters the dark hair and moves through thick eyelashes. It licks over nipples and pelvis to rest on open thighs.

As the forces of nature gather their soothing qualities, the clouds let loose soft droplets of rain landing in the crevices of his body. His lips open to allow the warm wetness entry, his fingers slick moisture from the indent at the base of his throat sliding along his chest to the drops pooling in his navel; his sex twitches at the sensation of heat, breath and moisture.

The impatient groans turn to deep moans as a current runs the length of his spine and he arches in response, feeling a powerful stretch from the top of his pelvis through his shoulder blades to his base of his skull, culminating in a shiver. His blue eyes pop open in surprise at the strength of his reaction, and he sits up quickly, sending his other leg splashing into the water.

Glancing beyond the crystal water to the surrounding glade, he might have noticed the giant cedars covered in olive vines or the overhang of tulips, hyacinths and poppies; he might have noticed the scent of jasmine and ripening passion fruit clinging to the air; he might have noticed the call of the howler monkeys and the melody of the linnet birds. But he doesn’t notice any of these things because every one of his senses is trained on the red-haired man standing at the edge of the pond staring at him.

 

The pale, smooth skin over the man’s lean legs disappears beneath the water as he steps forward into the pool; the water continues up and over his length drinking him in, covering his pronounced hipbones and the shadowed grooves of his abdomen. As the water laps over the brawn of his shoulders, his red hair disappears beneath the surface and he glides effortlessly toward the grotto and the man waiting on the ledge for him.

Breaking through the water, his hands grab the hard edge of the cavern a short distance from his target. Their eyes connect and blaze as he wipes a hand over his face and through his slightly curling hair.

“Hi, Mickey,” the red-haired man smiles and tilts his head to rest on the rocky ledge.

“What—where—?” Mickey asks, chest thumping in wonder. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ian,” he answers simply, his eyes travelling along the other man’s legs. “Your mate.”

“My what?” Mickey’s hand slides along the rocky ledge seeking out the other man’s hand. Their finger tips touch sending a jolt along their arms.

“I’m here for you, to be with you.” Ian slides his hand along the ledge pulling himself closer until he’s clinging to the rock on either side of Mickey’s legs. “I’m what was missing.”

Skimming his chest against Mickey’s shins, he continues, “We are meant to become one flesh.”

Mickey just nods, knowing that the heat curling in his abdomen and climbing into his chest, that the tightening and shortening of breath would find a release in this man, in this man’s flesh.

Ian applies a little pressure to Mickey’s shins until his legs spread and he can push between them, his hands sliding up the sides of his hips.

“You’re beautiful,” Mickey whispers, spreading his fingers through red hair and sighing at the soft texture. His thumbs glide over strong cheekbones until he’s grasping Ian’s skull firmly in his hands and tugging him closer. He leans down to press his lips against Ian’s, gently brushing them together, then pulling back to look into green eyes.

His thumb slides down to rub against Ian’s lips pushing slightly inside and connecting with the tip of his tongue. Mickey’s tongue unconsciously peeks out from between his lips in response. At the sight of it, Ian pushes himself up until he’s resting on his elbows. Smiling, they connect their lips again bringing the tips of their tongues together. Tasting each other before Ian slides back down into the water.

The fingers digging into Mickey’s hips tighten, yanking him roughly toward the lip of the overhang and toward Ian. They watch together as Mickey hardens in response, his erection a breath away from Ian’s mouth. Closing the distance, Ian presses his lips against the silken taut skin of his shaft sending a current through Mickey’s body. The fingers in Ian’s hair spasm and everything changes. The sweet tentative yearning is replaced with frantic desperate need.

Ian pulls Mickey into the water, tucking him tightly against his body while heels hook behind his thighs.  Their erections slide against each other, slick from the water, as they breathe in unison, searching each other’s eyes for answers to questions they don’t know how to ask. Mickey’s legs stiffen around Ian’s thighs locking their hips together, trapping their hardness in a tight cocoon. Pinned to the hard wall behind him, Mickey starts to grind and rub his himself against Ian urging him to do the same, building friction and frantic breathing.

Releasing one hand from the ledge, Ian reaches between them and runs his fingers over the heads of their erections and Mickey thrusts up into his hand, panting and pulsing, feeling wild, needing more.

Their eyes fix on Ian’s hand as it slides down and wraps around both of their shafts, stroking, twisting, exploring. “Ian,” moans Mickey as he lowers his hand until his palm meets the tips of their hardness, each thrust pushing up into his waiting hand. When he feels the slickness on his palm, he demands, “more, Ian, more.” Ian can only nod his head in agreement, a promise that he will not stop until they find whatever they are looking for.

The thrusts increase to match their need and Ian’s arm strains with the effort of keeping up. As the tension in their erections spreads to their pelvis, chest and throat, their movements became less rhythmic and more desperate, more primitive.

Mickey’s whole body tightens in a flood of physical sensation and pressure, his head smacks against the limestone and his thigh muscles clench Ian’s waist. Watching Mickey’s body release sends Ian over the edge with him. Before he finishes shuddering through his climax, Mickey surges forward wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck and pressing his lips into Ian’s. The force of the movement pulls Ian’s hand from the edge of the overhang and the pair slip beneath the water’s surface. Their lips still attached.

Tongues and legs swirl together, rubbing and sliding, tangling in the warm slickness. Chests heaving, they cut through the surface of the water, gulping for air before sinking under again. Eyes open, hands grabbing, feet kicking, they play.

They play until their limbs weaken and their breath labours then they float lazily, two beautiful men basking in the sun’s rays suspended above a turquois bed of rocks and ancient tree trunks. Blissful innocence within the original garden of pleasure.

 

Eventually the play and the relaxation give way to hunger for each other. Mickey hooks his foot around Ian’s leg and pulls him back under the water, until their feet touch the sandy bottom. He spreads his hands over Ian’s chest moving him toward the water’s edge. The moment their heads surface, their lips connect sucking at each other.

Ian falls backward onto the soft aquatic moss and grabs Mickey’s ass when he lands on top of him.  Rolling around, their legs splash in the water and their tongues thrust in and out of each other’s mouths, wanting to penetrate and be penetrated.

Panting and frantic, Mickey rips his mouth away from Ian’s and suctions it to the tendon in his neck, then the peak of his nipple, then the skin below his navel, then the head of his erection. Ian grunts and rocks up into the tightness, sliding deeper into the willing mouth. Grabbing the base, Mickey rises and sinks mimicking the thrusting movements from earlier, knowing the strangled noises coming from Ian signal what he’s been waiting for. The taste of Ian erupting in his mouth.

When Ian tightens beneath his fingers, Mickey fixes his eyes on Ian’s hands as they come up to rake through his red hair. His back arches, while he fills Mickey’s mouth with warmth.

Opening his eyes, Ian looks down at Mickey and smiles tenderly running his knuckles over his cheek. Sitting up, he helps Mickey straddle his lap then brings the other man’s mouth to his, caressing his lips. His hands trace Mickey’s spine, spreading around his waist pulling him closer. Then move to cup his ass, kneading and digging into the flesh.

When his fingers slide between his cheeks and move against the sensitive opening, Mickey strains against Ian, sliding his mouth to his ear. Tracing the curves of the lobe, he whispers, “Please don’t stop.”

Bringing one hand around to Mickey’s erection, the other hand continues to massage pushing slightly inside. Mickey bites down on Ian’s shoulder buffeting between pleasure and pain. Sensing this, Ian strokes him faster and slides his lips to Mickey’s ear, “I want to make you feel as good you as made me feel. What do you want me to do?”

Mickey presses his forehead into the smooth skin of Ian’s neck and breathes. “Keep doing that.”

“You’re so tight. Am I hurting you?”

“Just don’t stop, okay?”

Pressing in further, they both moan at the sensation and bring their mouths back together. Ian slips his tongue into Mickey’s mouth mirroring the same in and out motion of his finger. Mickey is panting heavily and his heart is beating so hard it’s making him dizzy. The sensations in his mouth, around his cock and in his ass are so overwhelming, he bucks up into Ian’s hand clenching through his orgasm.

Ian looks down at his hand covered in Mickey’s semen and brings it around to insert one slick finger into Mickey. Once again, they both moan but this time at the ease of entry, so he inserts a second finger. Ian twitches slightly under Mickey and their eyes meet. “Do you think it’ll fit?” Mickey breathes eyes wide open.

“I’m sure we’ll find out.” They grin at each other and Ian pulls back knowing they’ll take their time with this.

“Come on,” Mickey says, jumping up and grabbing Ian’s hand. “Let’s swim back and I’ll show you where we live.”

 

They spend their days in all manner of frolicking, enjoying each other and the safe space they’ve been given. They wrestle in the clear spring water, challenging each other to see who can swim across the pond fastest. Breathlessly, they scrabble for the shore laughing as they pull each other back from the finish line. Typically ending each race rolling around the mossy glade tangled together.

They climb the limestone foundation of their home, exploring the caves and crevices. At the top, they admire the view of the garden, the pond, the glade, the colorful canopy. They admire each other before jumping off the rocky grotto, hands held tightly as they crash through the water’s surface.

They explore the forest, tending to the animals and gathering berries, fruit, figs, nuts and seeds. Back in their rocky chamber above the water, they make a comfortable home with baskets full of food and a soft bed of palm fronds and creeping Jenny.

One afternoon, Ian returns with a few baskets of food that he hides from Mickey’s inspection. Grinning, he guides Mickey to their bed pushing him back against the soft greenery. “Let’s play a game,” Ian says, tying a band of braided reeds around Mickey’s eyes.

“What kind of game?” he asks, pressing his fingers to his now blinded eyes.

“A guessing game,” Ian explains. “You have to guess what food I’m putting in your mouth.”

Mickey smiles then opens his mouth.

“Eager?” Ian leans down and slips his tongue in Mickey’s mouth.

“Tastes like a peach.”

“Close enough.”

The flesh of a grape sized lychee drops into Mickey’s mouth and he crinkles his nose in pleasure at the combination of sweet tartness and floral scent. Biting into the rubbery ball, he grins, “That’s easy cause it’s my favorite. Gimme another.” He opens his mouth for a second piece, and Ian slips a slice of lime onto his tongue. Mickey sputters and convulses at the sour sensation then purses his lips denying Ian further entry.

“Open up for me, Mickey,” Ian cajoles. He slides a chunk of pineapple along Mickey’s lips, the juice running down his cheeks. Opening his mouth to complain, the sweet fruit sinks inside. He licks his lips trying to reach his wet cheeks. When he fails, Ian bends down and licks them clean.

Mickey slides his hand up to cup Ian’s neck bringing his mouth toward Ian’s but his lips only find air. “Hey,” he complains as a piece of raw honeycomb settles over his tongue. He sucks the chewy comb, sweet honey flooding his mouth and he groans. The hand still on Ian’s neck tightens. He drags Ian’s mouth down, opening so Ian’s tongue can slide along the sweet interior.

Pulling away, Ian grabs another hexagon of honey and runs it along Mickey’s collarbone, sucking the sweetness off his skin. He traces it over one nipple then the next, his mouth following, moving lower drizzling and licking sticky sweetness anywhere he can reach. Mickey knocks over a basket of lychees trying to wrap his legs around Ian’s waist.

“Hang on, Mick. I have one more surprise for you,” Ian pants rising up to his knees. Mickey can hear him sliding baskets around and feel him reach for something a distance away.

“What is it?” he asks, tapping Ian’s thigh to hurry him along.

“Patience,” he teases. “I’ve been experimenting while you nap the afternoons away.”

Before Mickey can respond, a big hand wraps around his shaft and strokes but the usual friction is replaced with a slick, slippery glide that steals the breath from his chest. Ian swirls his hand around the full length of him, up and over the head and back down to the base. “Oh, uh,” he sputters wanting to ask what was happening but finding words too complicated.

Looking down at Mickey arching and rocking into his hand, Ian does his best to find his words. “I could watch you like this all day.” He scoops up more oily gel from the coconut shell bowl, stroking rhythmically. “I mixed the oils and gels of some of the plants. I have big plans for this.” He smiles and Mickey doesn’t need to see it to feel it in his soul. He smiles in return.

Removing his hand from Mickey, he dips into the bowl one more time then twines his fingers with Mickey’s oiling up both of their hands then guides them to Mickey’s erection, stroking and sweeping their fingers and palms over the whole length of him.

Ian transfers their hands to his throbbing erection, lubricating it. Mickey is panting at the feel of Ian so slick and hard, imagining that slick hardness inside him. Without warning, another lychee tunnels its way into his mouth and Ian’s tongue follows. Mickey can’t deal with the onslaught to his senses, the feel of Ian wet and slick in his hand and mouth, the tang of the lychee on his tongue and its powerful scent in his nose, the sound of Ian moaning as their hands swirl around him.

Suddenly, Ian yanks away from Mickey breaking all contact, willing his heart to send less blood to his body, and looking down at Mickey’s legs falling open doesn’t help.

“Ian?”

“Gimme a second,” Ian replies, breathing deeply and reaching for a final sweep of oil. His other hand lifts Mickey’s leg up and toward his chest. Mickey attaches his hand to the top of Ian’s in preparation. Their fingers lace around his knee.

Ian looks down as his fingers move over Mickey’s opening and begin sliding in. He can feel Mickey’s fingers tighten around his when he adds another finger, moving them in and out.

“Now, Ian, now.”

As he braces himself over Mickey and penetrates him, the noises in the shallow cavern they call their home reverberate outward echoing around the glade. They surrender to the power in each of Ian’s thrusts, allowing the wildness to control them.

Shaking his head from side to side, Mickey demands, “Kiss me.” When Ian’s tongue enters Mickey’s mouth, they both pulse and jerk. Ian collapses on top of Mickey, arms wrapped around each other.

“When can we do that again?” Mickey asks fluttering the hairs on Ian’s neck. He chuckles lightly falling asleep inside Mickey.

 

Time passes in this manner until one morning, when Mickey wakes up startled and confused, wiping his sweat covered face and noticing he’s alone on the bedding. Surging up, he darts to the edge of the overhang, eyes scanning the water and glade for any sign of Ian. The unease in the pit of his belly that had pulled him from his sleep increases with each passing moment, with each sweep of the garden that doesn’t reveal his mate.

Diving into the water, he makes his way to shore and the edge of the forest unsure which direction to take. He’s about to call Ian’s name when he emerges from behind a wall of ferns. The relief lightens Mickey’s limbs and he exhales sharply.

“What’s the matter, Mickey?” Ian’s smile falters a little as he lugs his many baskets of food. He can see shadows under Mickey’s eyes and the tips of his lips are pulled back.

“You were gone when I woke up.”

“I was gathering fruit. I got more lychee,” he adds holding up one of the baskets and smiling hopefully.

Mickey wants to join him in playful banter, he wants to sit in Ian’s lap eating lychee, he wants to hide from whatever is happening.

But the unpleasant feeling that had started in his belly is moving steadily outward. Nodding at Ian, he scrubs his hand over the back of his neck before grabbing some of the overflowing baskets Ian is carrying and turns toward home. “Looks like enough food for a week.”

“That’s because I had help picking the fruit,” Ian mentions lightly but Mickey’s body suddenly turns cold.

“Help?” He stops walking and turns slowly back toward Ian.

“Yeah, it was kind of weird. I was pulling olives off a branch near that big old tree we always avoid when I heard a voice behind me. I thought it must be you, but when I turned around, I saw it was huge serpent, a huge serpent that can speak.” Ian shakes his head, indicating the size by holding his basket filled hands far apart. “He offered to help me gather food and explained that the fruit from that big, old tree was the best in the garden.”

“You didn’t pick any, did you?”

Hesitating at the sharpness in Mickey’s voice, Ian can only nod and point at the basket of bright green crab apples in Mickey’s hand.

“Fuck!”

They both jolt at the unfamiliarity and force in that one single word, and Mickey drops the basket of apples on the ground moving a few steps away from it.

“What Mick? What’s going on? I don’t like this.”

“Okay, it’ll be okay. You didn’t eat any, did you? You only picked the apples, right?”

Again, Ian can’t make his voice work and moisture leaks from the edge of his eyes.

“Answer me, Ian,” Mickey demands sharply, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes then refocussing on Ian with a deep, calming breath.

Ian starts to shake his head refusing to answer, but relents at the fierceness in Mickey’s eyes. He holds up two fingers. Mickey steps back and away from Ian causing Ian to press a hand against his mouth as though the contents of his stomach are threatening to come back up. “What’s happening? I didn’t know, Mickey. Please tell me what’s happening.”

Mickey looks at Ian’s sweet, perfect face with his wet eyes and trembling chin and moves forward to wrap his arms around him, pulling him tightly against his chest and pressing the side of his face to Ian’s neck. Able now to name the tension spreading from his belly to his chest, throat and limbs.

Fear.

Pulling away from Ian, he kisses his lips lightly and lays his hand on Ian's cheek before stepping back. Then he reaches into the basket of apples bringing one to his mouth.

 


End file.
